ASP 2008 and the Children of God

Jesus liked children. He healed them, held them, and maybe most remarkably, listened to them.

Sometimes, when I feel like I am right smack dab in the middle of doing God's will, honed in, spiritually atuned, when I know that God the creator of the universe is close to me, surrounding me, filling me, speaking to me, I feel like I should be in constant awe, stacking some stones, building a shelter, chanting some medieval chant, reading some scripture (maybe from the original Hebrew or Greek) lighting some candles, falling prostrate, donning some sackcloth, being reverently silent, maybe closing my eyes and humming . . . but instead I laugh. Something happens and I LAUGH. Not the kind of laughter that made the news a few years ago as whole congregations began to spontaneously laugh as they were filled with the Holy Spirit. No, I laugh the kind of laughter that usually results from some bodily function mishap (maybe that's what really happened to those congregations). Something silly. Totally not serious. Sometimes I am alone, but more often it is when I am in a group of like-spirited brothers and sisters who should also be acting reverent and serious.

Which brings me to the Lester Memorial UMC Appalachia Service Project trip for 2008.

Like a fresh breath of air the Lesterines ASP team moved across the earth, or at least 400 or so miles of it, (the last 800 miles of the trip being on winding roads across the Andes) to Trade, Tennessee, a quaint crossroads a couple of miles from the North Carolina line.

Adventures are far too numerous to recount here. But a few sound-bites, actually blog-bites, are:

In the mountains north of Mountain City, Tennessee, there is a legend somewhat like that of Sasquatch. There lives a woman. No one has seen her, or at least seen her and escaped to tell about it. But there is evidence that she exists. Hanging on a clothesline behind a house right off a switchback hangs a bra that would fit a B-10 bomber. The bra was spotted by several of our team members on the trip. Eric and Jeff considered going back to get it and use it for a two room tent. But the owner of the garment was not seen. We'll keep you abreast of the story as it develops.


In an effort to become closer to God, several of our young men exercised the spiritual discipline of shaving their heads as a sign of commitment and submission. Apparently not wishing to overdo it, they went for the Mohawk. The ritual was conducted right in front of the ice cream stand. All were welcome to take a turn with the clippers. No one was turned away. That's the way it is with the Body, shaved or not.



One of the concerns when so many youth and adults sleep in the same quarters and shower in the same showers is the possibility of wrongful sexual activity. This is a legitimate and serious concern. The staff at Trade had the answer. The showers were so cold that the water would have to warm up to freeze. Let me be candid. Sexual activity was rendered impossible. The only purple to be found (for those of you who are untrained in these matters, "purple" refers to activity of a sexual nature between boys (blue) and girls (pink), resulting in "purple") was the bluish-purple hue of the skin after one of these torture sessions they called showers.

If one was man enough to step fully into the shower, he wouldn't stay that way for long. . .right Rick.


(NO PICTURES due to safe sanctuary rules)


Being the deep spiritual person that he is, Steve took matters into his own hands on Friday, as the Clydesdale workgroup was faced with completely tinning a roof the last day of the week. It had to be done. So, into his own hands he took the tin. Without gloves. A blessing of blood flowed all about the worksite, from the roof where he was standing to the ladder, to the fascia, to the ground, all the way to the truck. The mark of Steve's blood was everywhere as an offering seeking a blessing. It must have worked. The tin went on quickly and perfectly. All was done when we left the worksite on time. The staff was a tad concerned about all the blood everywhere, one even began to gag. But not all can understand. Not everyone can be a Clydesdale.



As many of you may know, Meredith is our thespian. She is an outstanding drama student, having played major roles in Les Mis, that musical about the woods that I can't remember the name of, and many others.
But it was going a step too far when her face took on the look of happy and sad masks (Janus masks) that you see before some old movies and in theaters. The staff had mentioned that several people the week before had complained of an allergic reaction to the new pavillion. But we had culture night there anyway. One minute Meredith was sitting next to me, having a little trouble with her contact. The next minute the right side of her face blew up. Actually it was just her right eye, but it was really creepy. You had to be there. You didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Mostly we laughed.




Sometimes things are so bad you just have to laugh. The center we had was great. Only three real drawbacks. The showers which I have already addressed, and then there was the food. Let's just say that oatmeal should never be served as a leftover, unless you scorch the eggs, and leave it at that. And, the sleeping areas were just a bit too small for our group, even with Eric and Jeff sleeping on the upper deck outside, after that big bra thing didn't pan out, and Robert sleeping in the van. We were packed in that sleeping area like sardines. I was between Joe and James. James talked in his sleep. . .particularly scary when his head was 3 feet away from me and I was trapped until morning. But that wasn't as bad as the other side. You remember the old optical illusion about the hag and the lady? If not, here it is.




If you look at the picture one way you can see a fair young woman looking away from you to the left. If you look at it another way you can see a hag with a big honking nose and chin looking down and to the left.

Now I will share with you what I had to look at every night by opening my eyes and looking 3 feet to my right.



I tried desparately to see the fair young lady, but no such luck. Just Joe's nose, no matter which way he was looking.

ASP 2008 was wonderful. Our staff at Trade was incredible. The folks from Swanson, North Carolina and Inman, Georgia were beautiful. We played, worked, sang and shared all the joy of life lived in common. And we laughed. And I think I heard God laughing with us, children that we are, after all.

For more info on the amazing Appalachia Service Project, visit asphome.org